


Wearing Each Other's Clothes

by orphan_account



Series: 30 Day OTP Challenge [6]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 20:42:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1871778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account





	Wearing Each Other's Clothes

Continued from Day Five: Kissing

 

Q woke up abruptly, immediately knowing that something was wrong. He stayed completely still, listening for the slightest sound, only to be shocked as he felt the mattress move next to him. Q was out of the bed in a second, landing lightly on the floor and grabbing his glasses. Early sunlight filtered through the curtains, and the world came into focus.

Someone was in his bed.

No, scratch that.

James Bond was in his bed.

Q gaped as the memories from the previous evening sunk into his brain… The dinner, the play, the realisation of Eve’s plot, the kissing, the kissing, the kissing. The best shag of his life.

But why had he stayed?

007 never stayed.

Q stood still, torn between returning to the warm bed and not daring to. In the end he grabbed the shirt that had been carelessly flung over a chair the previous evening, and some pants, and walked to the bathroom. He turned the shower on hot and scrubbed himself vigorously. Fingertip bruises had bloomed around his hips and he’d need to wear collared shirts for a few days until the necklace of love-bites strung across his collarbones went down.

He pulled on his pants and pushed his arms through the sleeves, not realising that they were far too long, and that the shirt billowed around him. He heard movement from the bedroom and he readied himself to face the deadly agent. What would he be like? Angry? Frustrated? Would he even say goodbye before he stormed out of Q’s flat, regretting his actions? Q swallowed nervously. It was different when he was directing Bond’s weaponised talents at someone else, far across the globe. When that deathly blue stare could be fixed on him, it was all rather unnerving. Q straightened his back and squared his shoulders, unconsciously pulling the shirt back into place, far too distracted to notice why it had slipped off. He walked out of the bathroom with his head held high.

Bond was still lying on the bed, toying with a strip of black material, running it through his fingers. The sheets covered him… barely, and Q forced himself to look at the man’s face, preparing himself to meet the cold eyes.

Bond smirked at him and raised an eyebrow.

“I didn’t know that we were already at this stage of our relationship, Quartermaster,” he said, cheekily. If 007 could be cheeky. Which he definitely couldn’t.

Q frowned, trying to understand, failing completely as Bond started laughing. Finally Q looked down and froze in horror.

He was wearing Bond’s shirt.

Shit, shit, shit.

He started pulling it off, trying to put on a calm tone.

“My apologies, Bond. It seemed I accidently picked up your shirt. Won’t happen again.”

Bond grinned at him.

“By all means Q, take it off. But I think we’d probably both enjoy it more if you did it slower.”

Q stilled his hurried movements, caught like a rabbit in the headlights.

“I am not stripping for you.” He had to retain some dignity. But he stopped ripping the shirt off like it was burning him and crumpled it, throwing it at Bond’s head. To his surprise Bond didn’t move to catch it, instead letting the fabric fall over him, making him look like some absurd ghost. Q took the opportunity to pick up his own shirt and dressed quickly. He walked over to the bedside table and picked up his phone, decidedly ignoring that fact that not only was Bond still in his bed, but he looked comfortable there. Not knowing what to do, Q started scrolling through his emails.

Bond was silent when he wanted to be, so Q didn’t know that he had rolled across the bed until he felt himself being pulled back by his pants. He fell ungracefully onto the covers and struggled to stay upright, but he found himself pinned against Bond, who wrapped his arms around Q’s waist and buried his head into Q’s shoulder.

“I never expected you to be cold the morning after, Quartermaster. Did I do something wrong?”

Q didn’t respond, trying to figure out what Bond was up to. Why wouldn’t he leave? Why would he stay?

“Q?”

“I never expected you to stay, 007.”

“James.”

“Whatever I call you, I still never expected you to stay.”

Bond turned him around, gently, until they were facing each other.

“Why ever not?”

“You don’t stay. It’s not what you do. All those missions, all the conquests in downtime, you never stay. Why would this be any different?”

Bond gathered Q up again, and Q let himself relax into the warmth of Bond’s arms, knowing it would end soon, so he might as well enjoy it.

“Did you forget what I told you last night, Q? Ever since Skyfall, I haven’t wanted anyone else. You’re not a mission, and you’re definitely not a conquest. I don’t want you to be another notch.”

Q took a moment to try and take the information in, but he couldn’t quite believe it. Bond watched him carefully.

“Do you want this?” He asked, suddenly worried that he’d completely misread Q’s actions all along. Did Q even do relationships?

“Of course, you stupid man.” Q tensed again, waiting for Bond’s reaction.

“Well, so do I.”

“Can you understand why that’s so hard to believe?”

Bond cursed his reputation. Of course it would land him in a situation like this.

“It will take time, I know. But I can prove it to you. I want to prove it to you. Give me a chance?”

Q remembered those words from last night, in the private box after the play. He remembered the kiss after, how he melted against Bond’s touch. He relaxed his muscles at the memory, leaning his forehead against Bond’s, and closing his eyes. It wasn’t a complete agreement, but Bond knew that he could make that change. He wanted to.

“Let’s start over then, shall we?”

He leant forward and pressed his lips to Q’s, so gently that Q could have imagined it, but when he opened his eyes, Bond was right there next to him. Q wondered how he ever thought Bond’s eyes were cold or cruel.

“Good morning, darling,” Bond almost purred. Q kissed him back until Bond broke away and sat up.

“Tea. And breakfast. I’ll cook, shall I?”

 

***

 

A few hours later Q was monitoring Bond through the security cameras at a profoundly posh dinner party in Paris. Bond was wearing another gorgeous suit and was chatting to a man at the bar, sipping at his martini. He’d suspiciously kept his back to the camera since he’d gotten dressed. Q didn’t ask. Knowing Bond he’d probably stolen some prototype off a table and didn’t want Q to see it.

“Bond, target has left the room. She’s heading upstairs, to her room on the fifth floor. Room 11,” Q said into the earpiece. He heard Bond excuse himself from the conversation, down the rest of his drink, and walk to the lift. Unfortunately the hotel didn’t have cameras in the rooms, so Q sat back and listened as Bond broke open the lock of the door and fired one shot.

“Target eliminated.”

“Your car is waiting for you in the garage. You’ll be coming straight back to Headquarters. Is there anything else you need assistance with?”

It was the usual remark Q made at the completion of a mission, and it was exactly what Bond was waiting for. He quickly found a camera in the lobby, and turned towards it, winking at the lens.

“I wanted to thank whoever put my suit together for this evening. I love the bowtie. Bond out.”

The earpiece went dead and Q could only stare at the screen as he watched 007; no, Bond; no, James, walk out into the street, wearing his bowtie.


End file.
